Get Up, Get Up, Get Up
by BoothGirlForever
Summary: He knows her better than anyone else. No spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**Had this thought the other day, and couldn't get rid of it. Plays into my absolute conviction that in the end, it is always her, and always him. Together. Not a song fic, but the song "Get Up" by Barcelona was perfect for the mood of this story. It kept playing in my head as I wrote. Have a listen if you get a chance; it's a good song.**

**No real spoilers. Christine is about 7 in this story. Another very short little piece.**

"It's a nice day."

There was a vague surprise in her voice that disturbed him. Shrugging his suit jacket onto his shoulders, he moved behind her, setting his hand carefully, gently, on her shoulder. "That's a good thing, right?"

"I suppose so." She stood, straight and tall and motionless, staring out the picture window at the golden morning sunshine. "It will certainly be less problematic, logistically."

Distant. So very practical and quiet and distant. He forced the stress out of his voice and continued. "It is a good thing, Bones. No one wants a downpour on a day like this." When she didn't respond, he slid his fingers down her arm to grasp her hand. "We should probably get going."

"Okay." She turned, located her bag and the folder with all the items she would need for later. "Is Christine ready?"

"Yep. Her overnight bag is packed, so we can drop her off later this afternoon." His eyes followed her as she moved about the room; tracking her endlessly. "She's looking forward to her sleepover." A moment's pause and he continued, more tentatively. "Are you sure you're okay with her going? Under the circumstances, we could reschedule."

"No. She's been excited about this party weekend for quite some time." She slipped her feet into her low-heeled pumps and tiredly shouldered her things, avoiding his worried brown eyes. "I want her to have a good ending to the day."

A clatter of little feet signaled Christine's approach, her bag thumping on the stairs behind her. They automatically snapped into motion, Booth grabbing Christine's coat and Brennan making one last check of the small container of cupcakes going to the slumber party. With a small sigh, she snapped the lid closed and faced her family. "It's time to go."

* * *

><p>People milled aimlessly about, their reason for gathering now over. For a moment, Angela watched Booth watch Brennan, and then walked to his side. "Has she said anything to you?"<p>

"No." Lines of concern carved into his face, Booth continued to follow her movements as she spoke with an older woman. "Not much." His mouth firmed slightly, and when he spoke next, it was with more determination. "Not yet."

"Do you want me to take Christine for the night? She always enjoys sleeping over with us."

He smiled; a tired, small smile. "No, thanks, though, Angela. Bones wants her to go to that party. Said she wanted her day to end well." His eyes shifted momentarily to where Christine was dragging Jack across the grass in pursuit of a butterfly. "She's doing okay, though."

"Does she actually realize what's happening?"

"I don't think so." He shrugged, shoved his hands in his pockets. "I sugar-coated it pretty well. But kids get stuff, even when you think they don't."

"Well, you call if you need anything." Her hand on his arm squeezed tightly. "Anything at all."

His gaze already refocused on his wife, he nodded absently. "Will do."

* * *

><p>Putting the truck into gear, he waved one last time at their curly-headed daughter as she careened into the house behind three other girls and slowly pulled away, carefully avoiding the balloons and party signs. "She's going to have a lot of fun. Diane and Michael always throw one hell of a kid's party."<p>

She nodded, eyes trained out the window.

"You hungry?" When she didn't respond, he cautiously continued. "You didn't eat much today. I can stop and grab something, if you want."

"No. Thank you. I'm not hungry." The setting sun highlighted the red in her hair and lit up her beautiful, frozen face. "Are we going home?"

"Yeah, Bones." Pressing down on the gas pedal, he swung the truck around a corner and headed north. "Yeah. We're going home."

* * *

><p>She stood just inside the front door, quiet and motionless. He moved casually past her. "I'm going to grab a sandwich. If you change your mind, let me know. I'll make you one, too." Without waiting for a response, he headed for the kitchen, dumping his keys on the counter and his jacket on a stool. Two plates, two napkins. Four slices of bread. He gave her a glance and got to work, building a meal for two. When he was done, he grabbed a plate and dropped onto the empty stool. For several minutes there was no sound, and he ate in silence.<p>

"Booth."

At the sound of her voice, he froze, then quickly stood, sliding everything into the fridge before turning to her.

She stood at the couch, eyes only on him.

He was in front of her in an instant. Her trembling fingers twisted and clenched until he caught them in his, stepping as close as possible. "Yeah, Bones?"

The slightest of leans and she buried her face in his neck, shoving herself desperately against him. He gathered her close and dropped to the couch, pulling her onto his lap.

Her arms locked around his waist. "My dad died."

"I know, Bones." Her body shuddered, her silent sobs shaking her, and he shut his eyes and held her tighter. "I know."

Outside, cars passed, and streetlights winked on. The light faded and disappeared, and the night sounds rose.

**I really hope you enjoyed this. Thanks for taking the time to read.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I really thought this story was done, but I suddenly felt like adding another chapter. As usual, nothing earth-shattering; just Booth and Brennan together. **

**No real spoilers; the whole silly shenanigans with Booth being persecuted hasn't really happened in my world. And, of course, my Booth and Brennan are much more old-school in behavior. That's the way I like them.**

**And their pretty house was never destroyed. I loved that house.**

Her shoes were off.

She lay still, her slow awakening dampening her senses to a crawl. Warm. She was warm, and comfortable, but had a slight ache in her lower back.

She drifted.

Several hazy moments later, she surfaced again. Experimentally she shifted her hips, just a tiny amount. She was twisted sideways and tangled up in a blanket, her deep inhalations lifting her in a slow, rhythmic manner. No. Not her breathing. Someone else's. Someone under her. As her muddled thought process began to clear, she processed the remainder of the data in a rush.

Booth was under her. Under her and around her, one arm tight between her shoulder blades, his fingers loosely weaved through her hair. Her face was crushed against his chest, the damp material of his shirt bunched uncomfortably underneath her cheek. Her bleary, swollen eyes cracked open, then just as quickly shut again in protest at the action. Still wondering, she searched her mind for the last bits of information to the mystery of where they were, and why.

Then she knew.

A low, abject moan released from her chest and she stiffened. Almost simultaneously, his arms around her tightened, as if to hold her even closer than she already was; impossibly close.

"Bones, shh."

The soft, deep murmur calmed her somewhat, but also, irrationally, made her want to cry. Cry again. Wishing she could just go back to sleep and blot the day from her memory, the week, even, she screwed her eyes shut. But she was not one to hide. Not for long. And not with him beside her. Supporting her. Mustering up some muscle control, she raised herself on sleep-numb arms and peered at him.

His eyes gleamed in the dimly-lit room. "You're okay. You just fell asleep."

Her forehead dropped back to his chest, then lifted again. "How long?"

"A couple hours." The corner of his mouth lifted slightly at her expression. "I'm not surprised. You were tired."

Not just tired. Her lips parted momentarily before she pressed them together. Tired, and...

And.

The funeral.

Responding, as always, to her emotion, he brought a hand to her face. His thumb swept gently under her eye, detecting the remnants of her pain. "It was a hard day."

One more tear spilled as if in punctuation to his sentence, but was brushed aside before it could join the others already on his shirt. "Yes." Feeling her throat close tight, she instead tried to sit up, but was thwarted by the knot of blanket and limbs and torsos. "I can't seem to...can you...?"

"Sure. Hold on." Gripping the back of the couch with his left hand, he pulled, tugging them both to a still messy, but upright, tangle. "Let me just get rid of the blanket." Once that was removed they both shifted; Booth stood, holding a hand down to her.

Gripping it tightly, she hauled herself up, wondering at the lack of cooperation from her legs. She felt as if she'd been climbing stairs for hours, rather than asleep. She clicked on another lamp, then turned back to him, her hand going to her stomach. "I think...I might be hungry."

Relief swept quickly across his face. "I made a sandwich; it's in the fridge. It might be a little stale, but it's edible. Unless you want me to make something else..."

"No, thanks. That will be fine. I just need to eat something."

"You do." Taking her hand again, he led her into the kitchen. "You haven't been eating much. Almost nothing since yesterday."

"I...was very nauseous. I was afraid I would be sick." Her stomach quivered at the memory. "I didn't want to be sick."

His eyes lit with understanding and sympathy, but he merely nodded and turned her toward the stools. "Have a seat. I'll grab the food."

She didn't feel up to doing, or saying she could do. She let herself be shooed into sitting.

"You want anything to drink?"

"No." Trying to shake off the exhaustion, she blinked her eyes and stretched her shoulders. "Maybe some water."

"Okay."

Once she was settled with the food, he cracked a bottle of beer and settled next to her, his shoulder bumping against hers in silent solidarity. "I got a text from Diane earlier. Christine's having a great time at the party."

"Is she?"

"Yeah." He chuckled quietly. "She busted the Dora piñata wide open on the first swing." He glanced in her direction, eyes warm. "She gets that powerhouse swing from you."

It felt good to smile, even if just for a moment. "It's entirely possible, although your swing is also quite impressive."

"Yeah, but not like yours." The brief spark in her eyes was the best thing he'd seen all day. "My jaw still hurts from the last time you punched me."

"Booth, that was ten years ago."

"Exactly." Now he grinned, nudging her until her lips twitched again. "Anyway, our little girl is a slugger. Maybe we should look into softball teams."

"Or baseball," Brennan couldn't help interjecting.

"Or baseball," he agreed. "Well, we have time enough for that."

"We do." Finishing the last of the sandwich, she rose to discard her plate, then meandered around the kitchen, fussing at nothing. Finally she turned, bracing her hands on the counter behind her and meeting Booth's steady regard.

"Talk to me."

"I don't know what to do." Sighing glumly, she shrugged her shoulders. "I feel like I should be finishing some work, or making myself useful in another way. But I don't want to work." Tears sprang to her eyes, and her gaze dropped to the floor. "I don't want to do anything."

"Then don't." He met her surprised stare squarely. "There aren't any rules, Bones. You don't have to do a certain thing or feel a certain way. Just...cut yourself a little slack."

"Slack." She tested the word, thought for a moment. "I can try to do that."

"Sure you can." Rising, he skirted the counter, dropping his hands next to hers on the counter, leaning close enough to drop his forehead to hers. "You can do anything." After a moment, he moved, stroking a hand down her arm. "Just remember that you're not alone."

Her eyes shone damply up at him. "Would you hold me again?" Without waiting for an answer, she stepped forward into his open arms, resting her head against his shoulder.

No answer was required, but he gave one anyway; the answer that had been in his heart for so many years.

"I'll hold you forever."

**Thanks so much for taking the time to read. I hope you enjoyed my little snippet. **


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter came to me slowly. Slowly, like how Brennan deals with emotional upheaval. But there's something beautiful about her in those moments. I think her emotions are so strong that she finds them overwhelming. Luckily, she has our man Booth by her side. Sigh. **

**Once again - I like old-school Booth and Brennan, so that's how I write them. I hope you enjoy.**

The lights in the houses across the street winked and flickered, mirrored much higher up by the stars in the crystal clear sky. From her position on the step in front of him, she shivered a bit in the brisk night air and pressed further back into Booth as he pulled the blanket tighter around them.

"You sure you're not too cold?"

"Just a little. It's okay." The warmth from his body began seeping into hers, chasing the cold away. With a small sigh, she relaxed against him and stared into the darkness, letting the stillness of their quiet neighborhood wash over her. "We don't sit out here very often."

"No." He shifted a bit, tucking her closer as another slight tremor ran through her. "We've been pretty busy lately. We should, though." His gaze followed a lone car as it coasted slowly past. "It's nice out here."

"Nice." She looked around again, taking in the darkened street. All the squares of light, each telling a different story in a different house. "Yes. It is nice."

Several minutes passed in silence, until he finally nudged her gently. "As nice as this is, I have a feeling we're out here for a reason." When she didn't respond immediately, he merely stared into the distance, keeping his knees tight against her sides to ward away the chill air. Time passed quietly. At last, she took a deep breath.

"My dad and I used to sit on our porch at night, when the weather was fair and the sky was clear." She tipped her head back against his chest, looking up and remembering. "He taught me about the night sky. About the moon, and all the constellations and the galaxies."

"I didn't know he knew about that stuff. I thought your mother taught you about the stars."

"No. My mom liked them, but her field of knowledge was centered elsewhere."

"But what about that dolphin constellation? The one you said you both loved?"

She twisted and looked at him in surprise. "Delphinus? How did you know about that?"

"You mentioned it when we were investigating Chelsea Cole's death."

Her brow knitted, then smoothed as she thought back. "Oh. I'd forgotten about that." Her eyes fixed on his. "You didn't."

"No." He shook his head slowly. "I didn't."

Her eyes glistened, her grip tightening on him momentarily. Then she leaned back against him once more. "My mom and I shared that, but we knew about it because of my dad. He was very knowledgeable about astronomy. The way he talked about it...he was a wonderful teacher. Better than me. He brought the sky down to me; it felt almost as if I could touch it." She shifted, embarrassed, and her gaze dropped. "That sounds silly."

He angled his head, studying her profile in the shadows. "No. No, it doesn't. It sounds pretty great."

"It _was_ great. _He_ was great." She huddled closer to him, more for comfort now than warmth. "When he left...I didn't look at the night sky again for a very long time. Not for years."

"Because it wasn't the same without him."

"Maybe. Yes. I just..." she fought against the constriction in her throat. "It was very painful. It reminded me of him. I thought I would never see him again, and...I found it easier to move through my days without remembering so often."

"I get it, Bones. I do."

"When he came back...the first week after he was freed from jail, he came to see me and...we looked at the night sky again." She ignored the lone tear that eased down her cheek.

He tightened his arms around her. "It still hurt."

"Yes."

"But you didn't mind."

She swallowed convulsively. "No. No, I didn't mind. But now he really is gone. I'll never be able to listen to him talk about the stars again. I don't want to lose it again, Booth. I don't want to stop looking at the sky, like I did the last time." She wrenched around again to look at him, her stare this time dark and full of pain. "I don't want to lose the sky."

"You don't have to. You don't." Yet again, he swept his thumb along her cheek, removing the single icy teardrop. "You know what? Maybe you can't talk to your Dad about the stars anymore, but I bet Christine would love to learn about Delphinus. About all the stars and the planets. And maybe, just a little bit...it would kind of be like your dad was teaching her."

Stock-still, she continued staring at him, her mind wondering at this new possibility. Her heart aching. "I...maybe I could. I think...I think I could look at the sky with her. Teach her."

"You definitely could. You could give her the sky, just like your dad did for you." He paused for a moment, head tilted, studying her. "You don't have to decide now. You could just think about it."

"I don't need to think about it." Her voice filled with certainty and determination. "I want to do it. I can do it."

"Sure you can. You can do anything, if it's for someone you love. _From_ someone you love."

"Then...I'd like to show you, too."

His eyes darkened as he gently touched his forehead to hers. "Bones. I'd really like that."

After a moment, she eased back against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and lifted his hand, so they were pointing together into the vast, inky darkness. "Look up."

"What are we looking at?"

"Those two bright stars are Rigel and Betelgeuse. Along with the other three stars in a close, straight line, they form the constellation Orion."

"I kinda remember that one."

"Yes. Orion, the Hunter. It's mentioned throughout historical records, from Armenia to Ancient Egypt and Babylonia. It's even mentioned in the Bible."

"Wow. Really?" He breathed in the fresh air and moved his lips close to her ear. "It's beautiful."

"Yes, it is." Her eyes welling with tears, she smiled up at the Hunter. "It really is."

**It has occurred to me that Booth, being an Army Ranger, would have been taught how to navigate by the night sky, and the stars. But he would not have been taught about their beauty and history. That is Brennan's gift to him. And his gift to her.**

**Thanks so much for taking the time to read.**


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